Do you think we should explain?
It's strange to be writing this knowing that other people are going to be reading what we write. I'm torn between writing what I would normally write to you, a letter just like any other, and writing a letter explaining to other people what we are doing and why? I guess I'll start writing and see where I end up...
What are we doing any why?
I guess the simple answer is we're writing each other letters because it feels like the thing to do, and we're doing it here because I kept mailing you things that got lost in the mail.
The more complicated answer, for me at least, is about silence, and how silence can be a disease that kills. We've seen it this year as with #metoo, with the Kavanaugh hearings, with the countless women coming out of their safe spaces to speak up about what happen to them. I saw it when I quit my job in the service industry and, even after several monthsrecovering off recovering, when I got in the car after my first day at my new job I burst into tears - I hadn't been harassed all day at work. I don't think until that moment I had realized the weight I had been carrying. I don't even think I realized what it was like to NOT have harassment be a part of my job description.
But it's also about silence about the little things, the things that don't seem to matter. It's the silence about gaining weight because I've been sick, or crying because I ran over a frog mowing the lawn the other day. It's silence about feeling the burden of expectations from my parents, and silence about feeling guilty about being angry sometimes about those expectations (in the thirty seconds since writing that I've realized that this probably isn't a little thing, but I've been dealing with it all my life so it seems like it is).
And it's not just silence about the bad things that kills. It's also silence about the little small things that bring so much joy -- because we are embarrassed to talk about it, or think people will think we're stupid or being silly. Keeping silent about joy kills it. Joy, like love, is meant to be shared.
I think we are taught to be cynical, jaded -- the cool kids are cynical and jaded, aren't they? So I came home the other day and there were Three frogs outside my front door, not just one; and they were stacked up on each other like turtles on a log, and I just stood there and was really really happy for a minute. But I didn't tell anyone because it seemed like a stupid thing to be happy about. I never shared my joy with anyone, and while writing about it makes me smile, it's not the same. I'm smiling but I still feel kind of stupid. I hope I'll learn to get over that.
So, anyway, there is is, at least for me. What we are doing and why, from my point of view:
We're writing letters to each other because you are a sister of my heart and I don't want silence to kill either one of us.
Love from Durham,
What are we doing any why?
I guess the simple answer is we're writing each other letters because it feels like the thing to do, and we're doing it here because I kept mailing you things that got lost in the mail.
The more complicated answer, for me at least, is about silence, and how silence can be a disease that kills. We've seen it this year as with #metoo, with the Kavanaugh hearings, with the countless women coming out of their safe spaces to speak up about what happen to them. I saw it when I quit my job in the service industry and, even after several months
But it's also about silence about the little things, the things that don't seem to matter. It's the silence about gaining weight because I've been sick, or crying because I ran over a frog mowing the lawn the other day. It's silence about feeling the burden of expectations from my parents, and silence about feeling guilty about being angry sometimes about those expectations (in the thirty seconds since writing that I've realized that this probably isn't a little thing, but I've been dealing with it all my life so it seems like it is).
And it's not just silence about the bad things that kills. It's also silence about the little small things that bring so much joy -- because we are embarrassed to talk about it, or think people will think we're stupid or being silly. Keeping silent about joy kills it. Joy, like love, is meant to be shared.
I think we are taught to be cynical, jaded -- the cool kids are cynical and jaded, aren't they? So I came home the other day and there were Three frogs outside my front door, not just one; and they were stacked up on each other like turtles on a log, and I just stood there and was really really happy for a minute. But I didn't tell anyone because it seemed like a stupid thing to be happy about. I never shared my joy with anyone, and while writing about it makes me smile, it's not the same. I'm smiling but I still feel kind of stupid. I hope I'll learn to get over that.
So, anyway, there is is, at least for me. What we are doing and why, from my point of view:
We're writing letters to each other because you are a sister of my heart and I don't want silence to kill either one of us.
Love from Durham,
I think this is a lovely and fantastic beginning. I like beginnings.
ReplyDeleteAnd, I like the title.
ReplyDelete